


O Muddy Kings

by ForgetfulHufflefuck



Series: ForgetfulHufflefuck's Razor Scooter to the Ankle-Type Fics [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Like calls to like), Hogwarts First Year, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Original Male Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Tom Riddle, Powerful Magic, Pre-Hogwarts, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Romantic Soulmates, Slytherin Politics, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Soulmates, Tags May Change, Wandless Magic, Wool's Orphanage (Harry Potter), Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26010076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgetfulHufflefuck/pseuds/ForgetfulHufflefuck
Summary: When Professor Dumbledore went to visit Tom Riddle at his orphanage in 1938, he was surprised to find another magical child there—one joined at the hip to Tom, apparently.After witnessing a fantastical display of power, Professor Dumbledore saw no reason for Tom's friend, ten-year-old Oliver, not to attend Hogwarts with him in September.As they began their first term at Hogwarts, it soon became clear to the boys that they had a lot to learn about the wizarding world. And while both experts at manipulation, it seemed they were still at a disadvantage in the Snake House. So how will they overcome their House's prejudice, and will they prevail and rise to the top of Slytherin's hierarchy?This story will include Tom and Oliver's First Year at Hogwarts, as well as flashbacks into their pasts which will explain how they met and how two such wary boys came to trust each other so implicitly.--If you would like to Beta or co-Alpha this story, please say so. I don't have much else planned so far and would love some new ideas. Xx
Relationships: Tom Riddle | Voldemort & Original Male Character(s), Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Original Male Character(s)
Series: ForgetfulHufflefuck's Razor Scooter to the Ankle-Type Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887661
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	O Muddy Kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,
> 
> Welcome to 'O Muddy Kings'. I apologise if you actually end up liking this story because I am a very fickle person and I likely won't update this quickly or regularly.
> 
> If you have ideas for this story, please let me know and I will do my best to include them, and please message me if you're interested in Beta-ing because I am rather lacking ;]
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Hope you're all doing okay. Xx

It had been a long and frustrating day for Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. He had spent the majority of the oddly cold and rainy summer’s day visiting Muggle households, recruiting magical children for the upcoming year at Hogwarts, as he had been doing since two days prior.

As the Professor checked off the name of the girl he had just finished visiting from his list, he stared at the name just below it; the last person to visit until next year.

Dumbledore knew that this boy was no Muggleborn; he was well aware of this child’s story. His mother had been Merope Gaunt: an unsightly, inbred young lady who had been so desperate in her need for love that she had used Amortentia on a Muggle man, who, the poor thing, knew no better.

Dumbledore, who liked to consider himself of a progressive mindset, thought that this act was nothing short of disgusting. Merope had then bedded the unwitting soul, and become pregnant with his seed. It was several months after then, that Merope became convinced that she really was loved by someone. However, as soon as she sanguinely released him from the Amortentia’s grasp, he rightly fled.

Albus felt quite sorry for the both of them

The man had been disgusted at being fooled for so long; it had completely tipped up all of his other affairs and relations, leaving him to be scorned and thought of as a fool for dropping everything he had to be with such a repulsive being. And to make matters just that much more bleak for him, he’d had no way to explain that he had not been of sound mind; that it wasn’t even his choice.

But nonetheless, he had gotten himself out of that witch’s trap, leaving her behind, and never to see her again.

Merope, he would be pleased to know, suffered greatly; pregnant-to-bursting, and knowing she wouldn’t survive the labour, she made for Wool’s orphanage, with but one request: that her son be named Tom Marvolo Riddle, after his father and maternal grandfather.

And so she passed away, just minutes after giving birth to her only son, leaving a parentless boy and a legacy of foolish destruction.

But that was just over eleven years ago, and Dumbledore came not to see a baby, but to reveal to an 11-year-old Tom the wonders of the wizarding world, and, in Dumbledore’s humble opinion (though he may be a bit biased), the finest wizarding school to ever have existed.

The old man sighed. He did suppose it was unfair that this boy had grown up without parents, and without explanation for the accidental magic he had no doubt performed. And he knew from years of recruiting Muggleborn students that more often than not, parents were horrified by unexpected ‘magic tricks’, and felt it was their duty to beat the ‘devil’ out of their children. Dumbledore wasn’t sure if that had happened at Wool’s Orphanage, since he wasn't yet acquainted with the wardens there, but given his previous experiences at other orphanages, he had low hopes for this next encounter.

He apparated to the orphanage anyway.

: : :

Tom had awoken that morning with a headache. It had blossomed behind his temples and bloomed into a fully-blown migraine by midday, nearly incapacitating him. However, he had an act to keep up, and showing weakness, even if that weakness was unavoidable, severe pain, was completely out of the question.

It was nearing tea time, and Tom’s headache hadn’t lessened, though it was a small reprieve knowing that night would come soon, and he would be able to sleep the pain away.

He had spent the day doing his schoolwork from his bedroom, since the wardens had locked him in there for ‘terrorising’ the other children the day before with his partner in crime, who was also locked away in his room, right across the hall from Tom’s.

Tom didn’t agree with this punishment.

After all, he and his partner had been the ones to reinforce the notion of good behaviour and respect in those children’s minds. They had disrespected Tom’s friend, and so the two of them had taught those brainless fools a lesson. So why the wardens had punished them was illogical. However, he and his partner accepted the punishment, if only to make sure the wardens maintained the belief that they still had the power in this relationship.

...However misguided that belief was. But Tom forced that thought away.

As soon as he finished with the last exercise he had been set for mathematics that day, Tom would be able to have a twenty minute; maybe half-hour nap, depending on how long the exercise took. So he set to it.

: : :

Just as Tom wrote the final number down in his exercise book, a sharp rapping echoed from his door, making him wince (though imperceptibly) from the sound. From the quick and curt knocking pattern alone, Tom could tell that it was warden Clarke at the door, and that she had company she wanted to impress, so he had better be on his best behaviour.

Straightening where he sat, Tom closed his book with a snap, and gave a crisp “Enter” as a response. The lock clicked open from the outside, and then entered Warden Clarke with a very odd-looking man. His head sprouted long, auburn locks, and his beard of the same colour was fastened into a tail with a shimmering, silvery thread. On his long, slightly pointed nose was supported a pair of half-moon glasses, behind which twinkling periwinkle eyes seemed to stare straight into Tom’s soul.

This was dangerous ground.

Tom could sense that this man was like him and his partner: he could tell that he had magic within him, and Tom was sure that, right behind the door across from his, his partner in crime was watching this scene through his door’s keyhole and listening intently for the conversation about to happen.

“Good evening, Tom,” the old man said with a tone that suggested he was talking to a scared and cornered animal.

Tom was anything but.

His already schooled features smoothed out even more; his defensive mind shields settling further into place.

“Good evening, sir.” He briefly moved his gaze from the peculiar man to the stern lady who had left an angry bruise on his hand with her cane just yesterday, “Warden Clarke.”

The warden gave him a curt nod, then at the icy stare she knew Tom would threaten her with should she stay, decided to make herself scarce. A clever woman, indeed.

The old man was watching Tom; analysing him. Tom could feel it; a tingling sensation that crept up his neck. He didn’t like it. But two could play at that game. He returned his gaze to those twinkling blue eyes, and very, very carefully slid into the old man’s mind. He could see some sort of resistance in place—rather plebeian shields in his opinion—and glided through those as if made of air.

The face of a very ugly woman flashed by, disgust and pity laced between the fibres of the memory; then feelings of ‘home’ appeared when images of some sort of castle, as well as other magical-feeling people passed by. Though not even a second had passed, Tom retracted from the middle-aged man’s thoughts; he didn’t want to raise any suspicions about being able to read minds, in case this man could sense Tom’s very delicate probing, unskilled as he may appear.

If he could sense anything, he certainly didn’t show it.

Tom continued to watch the man. He wanted him to speak first.

He cracked. “May I?” the man asked, motioning to Tom’s bed.

“Please.”

The man nodded in appreciation.

“It has been brought to my attention, Tom, that you possess… certain gifts. That you are like me; you’re different to the other children here.” The man looked at Tom, as if Tom didn’t know what he was referencing.

Tom didn’t want to reveal anything, though—just in case. He didn’t know this man’s intentions, despite having looked into his mind.

“How so?” he asked. He also wanted to leech as much information from the man as possible, not only for himself, but also for his friend hiding behind the door across the hall.

The man looked over his shoulder at the open doorway, as if conspiratorially. Tom knew better, though. He knew he could sense his partner.

He then leaned towards Tom and whispered, “You’re a wizard, dear boy. You can make things happen. Things that the other children can’t, can’t you, Tom?”

Tom, even though he had been expecting this, made his face reflect a look of recognition and slight excitement, subtly answering the man’s question without giving anything more away.

“I can.” He thought for a moment, but decided that revealing the next bit wouldn’t do too much harm. “But I’m not the only one at this orphanage who can.”

The old man’s brows lifted slightly, his features expressing polite intrigue, “Oh? And who might this other person be?”

Tom resisted flicking his eyes to the door across from his, though he had a feeling the man already knew who was behind there.

Tom deflected the question, “Not to be rude, but who are you?”

“Oh, I do apologise. My name is Albus Dumbledore and I am a Professor at Hogwarts.”

Tom asked the question he knew Warden Clarke would expect him to: “You’re not a doctor?”

Dumbledore chuckled, “No, I’m not a doctor. And before you say it, no I don’t think you’re mad. See, I can do things just like you can.”

“Prove it.”

His partner’s door promptly set itself alight with flames.

Tom started, just as he imagined his friend would. He made to put out the fire with his mind, but sensed his friend doing the same. The flames dwindled until they were no more, and left not one mark on the door. Tom supposed it must have been an illusion, then. Dumbledore looked quietly impressed.

“I think we are not the only ones in on this conversation, Tom.” Dumbledore turned around on his bed, then waved a hand at his friend’s door, the click of a lock reverberating before the door creaked open and Tom’s friend appeared, expressionless.

“Good evening, there. Tom, I assume you wouldn’t mind introducing me to this young man here?”

Tom’s dark blue eyes met his friend’s amber ones. They sent a feeling of assent to his mind.

“His name is Oliver. Oliver, Professor Dumbledore.”

“Good evening. I apologise for eavesdropping. Tom is my dear friend, and I have his consent to listen to his visitors in case I need to intercede.”

Dumbledore nodded his head in acknowledgement, “Ah, well, no harm done. Now, since you two seem to be comfortable with each other, why don’t you join us? I understand that you can make certain extraordinary things happen, too?”

Oliver hesitated, then nodded and joined Tom at his desk.

“I can.”

Dumbledore’s patience visibly weaned at yet another dry answer, if ever so slightly, “Well, would you like to demonstrate? I would only be fair after I showed you what I can do—oh, and I do apologise if I gave you a fright. It was not my intention.”

Oliver nodded in acknowledgement, and then shared a look with Tom, the two communicating inside their heads.

Together, they raised their hands, focusing on the old man, who chuckled in surprise as he slowly started to rise up and float. Then, one by one, every other item in the room began to float, and then, much to the two boys’ delight, screams sounded in the rooms all around the orphanage, where everyone and everything was floating.

Dumbledore seemed torn between looking shocked and laughing.

The boys lowered their hands, and returned everything gently to their original positions.

“Though I don’t condone the use of your magic on everyone else in the orphanage—Merlin, they’ll all have to be  _ Obliviated _ —I must admit, that was a most extraordinary show of power, especially for boys of your age,” Dumbledore commended. “Say, Mr. Oliver, how old are you?”

“I turn ten on New Year’s Eve.”

Dumbledore hummed, stroking his chin.

“I suppose Hogwarts could make an exception… I wonder…”

“I apologise, Sir,” Oliver spoke, “but I haven’t heard of a school called Hogwarts. Please could you tell me of it?”

Dumbledore’s eyes lit up. Tom realised the pictures of the castle and magic folk must have come from this Hogwarts school.

“My boy, Hogwarts is a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry; the finest in all of Europe. I came here to invite Tom to attend, but it seems a happy surprise that I met you too. I expect you would both fit in well there, given your natural skill.

“At Hogwarts, you will be not only taught magic and spells; you will also be taught how to control it—though I don’t think you two will have much trouble with that—and other branches of magical academia. A few of the Hogwarts subjects are simply extensions on your Muggle subjects.”

“Sorry, Sir, ‘Muggle’?” Tom asked.

“Muggle is the wizarding term for non-magical folk; those who cannot make extraordinary things happen like you and I can.”

Dumbledore looked from the two boys to Tom’s mathematics text- and exercise books. “For example, if you so choose, from your third year onwards you may study a subject called Arithmancy, a form of Divination, or predicting the future, with the use of numbers and calculations.”

Both boys felt the other perk up at the notion, though nothing was outwardly shown.

Dumbledore’s eyes still twinkled knowingly.

“Yes, I sense that you might enjoy it at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore flicked open a pocket watch from one of the many folds in his robes, “Ah, alas, I must be on my way. Mr. Tom and Mr. Oliver, it has been a pleasure meeting you. If you have no objections, you may expect an owl with official letters of invitation to Hogwarts, as well as a list of things you may require for the school year. The school term starts on September the first, so please expect someone to come around in, say, two weeks, to take you shopping for your things in Diagon Alley. Have you any questions?”

The boys looked at each other again, and Oliver asked, “Will we have to return here?”

Dumbledore’s eyes softened at the almost unnoticeable tone of sadness in Oliver’s voice, “Yes, I am afraid. You may stay at the school during most holidays, as it is a boarding school, but you will have to return here for the summer.”

Oliver nodded.

“Well, it was good to make your acquaintance, too, Sir,” Tom said, and Oliver nodded politely.

“Thank you, boys. I won’t keep you any longer,” he nodded once, before turning and leaving the room in a flurry of robes, a small smile to his lips.

: : :

The boys listened until they could no longer hear the man’s footsteps and sat on Tom’s bed.

“Well, that was intriguing,” Tom said, after a minute of silence.

“Yes it was. And I don’t like him.”

Tom hummed in agreement, a crease in his brow.

Oliver frowned, “Are you in pain, Tom?”

Tom turned to face Oliver, “How could you tell?”

“You just… I don’t know. It’s like I have an echo of a headache. It’s not like anything I’ve felt before.”

Tom’s frown deepened. “I’m not doing that, am I? I don’t mean to be projecting anything to you—”

“No! Tom, I’m fine. I just, I’ve been thinking about how I could help you, and I think my mind’s taking some pain from you. Subconsciously, I mean.”

“Interesting…”

“Here, I want to try something.” Oliver placed his hands on each side of Tom’s face. Both boys closed their eyes, and then warmth flowed through Tom’s head, his pain dissipating more with every second that passed.

They opened their eyes.

“Did it work?” Oliver asked.

Tom nodded in relief. “Thank you; you must teach me sometime. How did you figure out how to do that?”

“I guess I was just thinking about Warden Clarke hurting us. If we can receive pain, why can’t we get rid of it?”

“Moreover, do you think we could transfer pain to Warden Clarke? So every time she hurts us, she also hurts herself?”

Malicious excitement rose within the boys, and Oliver nodded along to Tom.

“If we do go to this magic school… Imagine how much easier things could be,” Oliver mused.

“Hm. We wouldn’t have to figure everything out for ourselves; we could just be taught things that already exist, and then we could improve upon them. It would save us a lot of time.”

“Yes… except we mightn’t be at the top of the food chain anymore, if there are others there like us.”   
Tom frowned. “Nonsense. We’ve worked hard all our lives. Once we figure out the dynamics of the Hierarchy, we’ll cement our place at the top.” He sighed, “Don’t fret, Oliver. It’s not like we haven’t done that before.”

Oliver hummed thoughtfully, “Say, Tom, would you like to skip supper? It seems we have much to discuss.”

Tom turned to look at his beloved friend, his one and only partner in crime, and grinned.

“Indeed we have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I don't have much written for the next chapter and honestly don't know if I'll update or abandon... Please let me know if you want me to continue writing this lol
> 
> Take care.
> 
> Xx


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